by Mary Wakefield Buxton –
URBANNA — The “Over 80” club is a small proportion of American population but we are an interesting group. We remember the depression and World War II. We know what this nation endured during those horrendous times, not by learning facts in textbooks, but by living and experiencing life during such times. Lest we forget, we share memories whenever possible.
Children went to school and “played outside” after school and used imagination to entertain themselves. We weren’t “plugged in” and chronically staring at handheld devices like children today. When we were outside we were not entertained or supervised by anybody, we entertained ourselves using our own imagination.
We played games like “Hide and Seek” or “Cowboy and Indians” with old-fashioned cap guns or water pistols, collected shells on the beach, swam or boated on the river, ran through cornfields, built forts, camped in the woods, spent days in the treehouse in the old apple tree where we could pelt the neighbor’s boy with little green apples if he tried to climb up the tree.
The games we played were simple and inexpensive, we didn’t need high priced toys to entertain us, just a ball, jump rope, set of jacks, scissors, paste, paper dolls, coloring books, a box of crayons or a handful of clay would suffice.
The hours spent jumping rope and learning suitable chants, playing jacks or shooting marbles would fill our days. A special game if we went downtown and walked on sidewalks was fun. Every so often there was a “T” stamped on a sidewalk and if you stepped on it, “it would break your mother’s sugar bowl.”
We lived in an old-fashioned family unit with a father and mother and children born after marriage. There were hardly any single-parent families in those days unless someone had lost a spouse in the war and divorce was rare. Mothers stayed home and took care of the children and fathers worked and supported the family.
Families went to church on Sunday. Mine didn’t, however, because Father, a scientist and engineer, was an atheist and he did not approve of believing in supernatural power. “You have to be able to prove something exists, Mays, before you believe it.” But he allowed Alice and me to go to Sunday school and church each Sunday because he believed in Christian values and a life rooted in the Ten Commandments.
I had freedom to walk or ride my bike anywhere and a child was safe in those days. There was little crime. My friends and I would pack lunches and take bike trips to neighboring towns. Today, parents don’t dare let a child out of sight. We learned about the world by exploring on our own with the wind in our hair, birdsong in our ears and the many stunning sights before us.
Every night I went down to the basement to listen to the “Green Hornet” or “The Shadow” on Father’s radio in the play room. I can still hear the footsteps and doors creaking as the stories unfolded. Sometimes I would be so scared I would fly up the stairs sure that the ferocious lion that lived behind the gigantic oil furnace was chasing me. No matter how many times Father showed me there was no lion behind the furnace, I still believed it was there. “Don’t believe anything, Mays, that you can’t see or prove its existence.” Father would remind me in his reassuring voice.
There was one bathroom, one radio, and one black telephone in the kitchen. If someone called during dinner you had to tell your utmost secrets to a friend in front of your family. Our telephone was on a party line and I was always sure someone was listening in on everything I said. Eventually private line service was available.
Father drove us to school each day lecturing us on some subject like astronomy, geology, history or Darwin’s “Origin of the Species.” We had one car, always a Ford, for Father would buy no other car. Only after Henry Ford III voted for Lyndon Johnson in 1964 did Father change to a Buick, but not until writing Henry’s grandson and telling him what he thought of his vote.
When black and white television arrived, I watched the old black and white movies from the early 40s featuring stars like Humphrey Bogart, Clark Gable and Lauren Bacall. I also loved watching Western films starring Roy Rogers and Dale Evans or Gene Autry and Hopalong Cassidy starring William Boyd. I also loved the Lone Ranger and his sidekick, Tonto. Tonto was my first exposure to Native Americans. Kemo sabe.
There wasn’t much we could do in those days to get into trouble because everyone knew everybody in town and someone who was always watching would tell your parents if you got out of line.
I remember once deciding I had to test myself to see if I could ever steal something. I decided to snitch a piece of bubble gum at Hart’s Drug Store under the stern glare of “Billy,” an elderly lady who worked in the store and watched children like a hawk. I think she realized I was wrestling with the devil and the devil was winning. She didn’t say anything to me but Father said a strange one-cent charge for a piece of bubble gum was on his next monthly statement and he wondered why I didn’t have even a penny to pay for a piece of gum. Horrified, my potential life of crime ended in great ignominy.
I spent hours during summer days playing the part of a kind of super woman named “Janie Experience,” a creature of sorts that was half girl, half horse. Janie went around doing “good” (she was certainly not stealing penny bubble gum) everywhere and fighting “evil.”
One night at dinner I told my family about Janie and Mother and Alice laughed. Father laid down his fork and told them they were not to laugh because “Mays is a writer.” We were all shocked at such a grim announcement. I especially was hoping that such a fate would not ruin my life. Then we all laughed. Our family laughed a lot and we three sisters (Georgia arrived in 1950) still do when we get together. Who needed the Internet, computers, horror movies, war games or a handheld personal device for entertainment in the 40s? We entertained ourselves.
(To be continued.)
©2022
(Welcome to “One Woman’s Opinion,” a long-term feature of the Southside Sentinel, written by Urbanna resident Mary Wakefield Buxton. Traditionally a humorist, Mary has written a column on all subjects and sometimes in very serious vein. Along with writing a column for the Sentinel since 1984, she is also author of 15 books about life and love in Tidewater, Virginia.
